“We have always carved a new mask of the city, to speak for the city when the floods come,” said Semele. “Zombay is a new place each time, you see.”

“That’s what you want Rowan to do?” Rownie asked. “Speak for the city?”

“Yes,” said Semele. “This is why we taught him and why we are trying to find him. This is why everyone is trying to find him.”

“Who wears the River, then?” Rownie asked.

“No one,” said Thomas. “Absolutely no one. The River isn’t a mask you can wear. Not any longer. It would wear you instead, if you tried. Much too old and much too strong. It would fill up an actor until they drowned in it.”

“But it listens,” said Semele. “Sometimes it will listen. And it might be that it will listen to you, Rownie, if you put on the mask of Zombay. Try it now.”

“Me?” Rownie asked.

“You,” Thomas answered. “We have been teaching your older brother how to do this, but you do have a bit of talent yourself.”

Rownie lifted the city mask and set it carefully over his own face. He pulled the string above his ears and behind his head. Through the eyeholes, he saw the others watching him, expectant. It made the back of his neck itch. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry.

“Repeat after me,” Thomas whispered. “Zombay River, oldest roadway, canyon carving, hear me.”

Rownie looked up at the great River mask. Its eyeholes were dark, and he could see nothing through them. He wondered what would happen if he tossed a pebble through and how far it would fall and whether or not there would be a splash when it hit. He understood how someone could drown in that mask—and that the mask would not notice them as they drowned.

He repeated the line. “Zombay River, oldest roadway, canyon carving, hear me.”

Nothing happened, and nothing continued to happen after that.

“Oh well,” said Thomas. “Not to worry. Your brother should be able to manage, and we should be able to find him. Or else we might possibly track down another unChanged actor whom the Mayor has not yet arrested.” He probably meant to sound comforting and optimistic, but he did not. Rownie took off the city mask and set it back inside its wooden box.

“Why can’t you do it?” he asked. He felt small and emptied out. He felt as though he should be better at this than he actually was. “Why does it have to be somebody unChanged?”